Silent Hill 2
by Aeris Gainsborough and X-treme
Summary: AFTER WAITING!!!!!!! CHAPTER 4!!!!!!! James is searching for his wife in the town of Silent Hill. He might find more then he wanted, and some secrets may come back to haunt him.
1. Default Chapter

Prelude  
  
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Deception can create a world.  
  
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The truth is, the world is only what you tell yourself it is. Lie to yourself and everything around you begins to crumble. When you're stuck in your abyss of lies, there's no going back. You've already fallen into the bottomless pit . . . wishing you had just told the truth.  
  
Deception hurts.  
  
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Deception not only affects you, but the people around you. You tell a lie and it spreads like wildfire. And once others believe it, you believe it. That's because if others found that you lied, you would lose their trust. Therefore, you convince yourself that your lies are real. No one wants to be guilty of anything.  
  
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Deception kills.  
  
My name is James. James Sunderland. And I know now that once you let a lie take over, it grows . . . like a spreading disease. Don't ever let anyone convince you that it's an easy way out. It catches up to you . . . one day or another. I went through hell because of it, and I'm not proud in the slightest because of it.  
  
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My story is one of lies. My lies. If you don't understand my understanding of lies and deceit, you won't understand any of this. All of what happened was not just because of my lies . . . but because of my selfishness as well. Lying to others in bad enough, but lying to yourself is the lowest you can go. I never believed in punishment for running from my sins, but one day they caught up to me.  
  
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Deception sent me to hell. 


	2. Chapter 1: Blurry

Chapter 1: Blurry

My story begins the same way as all the old stories . . . at the end. Imagine a place far away. It's up in the mountains. Even the closest city is miles and miles away from it. Mist shrouded the streets and the air was cold enough to bite. One of the off-roads to that city leads straight to a cemetery. It wasn't enough to entertain, but there was someone there anyways. He was walking away from the city, trying to forget all that he had seen. His wounds would heal, but his mind would be scarred forever. A simple coward who had to move on with his life, no matter he had seen or experienced at that town. All he had was a memory . . . his only trophy to take home. He kept reading over a letter in his hands over and over again. He looked discouraged, and yet strangely at peace. As he walked to the lake, he looked into it and saw who he really was. No more lies . . . he was a new man now.

That man was me.

The events that had lead up to that point were a collection of nightmares brought to life. I was scarred, but I was also changed. I kept wondering to myself if I had really made the right choice, but it wasn't like I could go back and change things. I didn't even want to looks back on what I had left behind.

Enough about the ending. Let's start at the beginning.

It all starts with my childhood. Growing up, my parents and I fought constantly. I was one of _those kids . . . the kind of kid who came home every night stoned off my ass with the cops not far behind me. My parents didn't like it, but what did I care? It wasn't like they were going to do anything. _

I never had many friends, but it wasn't because of any of my supposed _issues my parents had to constantly remind me about. I stayed away from people because as far as I was concerned, the whole world was fucking stupid. There was no such thing as a true friend. "I want to be your friend" usually means "I'm poor" in most people's minds. But it didn't matter. You didn't like me, fine. The feeling was mutual._

But wouldn't you know it . . . my parents got so fed up with me that they sent me to military school. If you have kids, please do them favor and don't send them there. I'll admit, it helped me become a better person, but it wasn't fun. Hate the work, love the outcome. That's how it went there. I learned so much that I actually found myself a future. Instead of being some pot-headed kid, I was joining the armed forces. Who would have guessed that? My parents probably laughed when I sent them a letter in the mail saying I was going to fight for my country.

I served in the Army for about four years and then left. It was a good way to make a living, but I didn't want to do it forever. So I returned to my home town without saying a word to my parents. They wouldn't have even believed it was me. The immature little fuck they knew as James was now a disciplined ex-soldier. They'd think I was someone else. And that could almost be plausible, because they hadn't seen me in the last eleven years.

I lived in an apartment eating frozen dinners every night and watching those crappy daytime TV shows. I needed some time to reflect on who I really was; you see, yours truly never many friends. The only people who loved me growing up were my parents (whether they want to admit it or not). Hell, I had never even had a girlfriend before. Maybe it was time for me to get out a little more.

So I spent some time out on the town. Met a few women, went out on a few dates, and had some fun. I always thought asking someone out meant automatic rejection. Little did James realize that he was actually quite the attractive one. 

I did some pretty reckless things after I got out more, though. I got married to this one woman I met when I had one too many drinks. That didn't last very long. I didn't even love her . . . but the alcohol kept on trying to change my mind. Ever sense I left the army, I started to drink again. There were certain unmentionable things that happened back when I was in the service that I wanted to forget. But alcohol impaired my judgment far worse then any other guy (I think). Thus, I ended up marrying a girl I had met at a club. After that, I tried to stay sober while meeting women. No more of these one-night-marriages (okay, it was longer than that, but you get the idea.).  

But one day, I met a girl at the super market. I was buying some of those nutrition bars (gotta stay in shape) when I accidentally bumped into a woman's shopping cart. It fell over and the spaghetti sauce inside splattered across the floor. The first words I said to her weren't the most memorable. It was probably "Oh, fuck! I'm sorry!" or something along those lines. As the cleanup crew mopped up the thick, crimson stain, I began talking to her. And I fell in love with her instantly. The women I had always been attracted to were the wild, outgoing ones, but her innocence was what really made me fall for her. She was a nice girl. I had never been with a nice girl before.

So before I knew it, I married her. Those were the best years of my life. She was everything I wanted to be, and I respected her for that. Nothing made me happier then waking up every day with the woman I loved. I wanted us to stay that way forever.

Needing to support the family, I decided to head out and find myself another job. My history was pretty good. I was ex-trooper, after all. I quickly found myself working in management. Who would have guessed I would have gotten a real job like that? I was paid well enough, and soon Mary and I moved out of my old apartment and got ourselves a real house. No more paying monthly rent. Now we were paying mortgage. I was actually feeling like an adult. I could have bought a new car, but the old Nova had bought still had sentimental value to it.

One year, we visited a resort town out in the mountains near a lake. That had to be the best week of my life. My wife and I stayed at the Lakeview Hotel. She was getting a little annoyed by me filming everything there (I made a certain filming request, and was denied the privilege) but thought it was funny to see the little kid in me breaking through again (the little kid before the rebellious teenager stage).

  
During that week, my wife's 'cold' that she'd had started getting worse. I wasn't sure what to think, but everyone gets sick, right? Whatever she had couldn't be serious. On our visit to that town out by the lake, though, her condition just got worse and worse. When our trip was over, I took her to the hospital. It probably wasn't anything serious, but I wasn't about to let my wife get any worse. After diagnosing her, however, the doctor told me the most heartbreaking news of my life.

  
My wife was going to die.

We didn't know how long she had, but there was nothing the doctors could do. I screamed at the whole medical staff. But no amount of yelling would change the fact that she was going to leave me.

 If I couldn't save her, I'd make her last days alive the best she ever had. I visited her every day, brought her flowers, and took her to dinner . . . everything I could think of. I was always able to make her smile. We'd always leave with long, tearful goodbyes. I'd promise her that each visit wouldn't be the last and we'd still have each other forever. 

 After her tremendous amount of suffering, however, she finally died. I had to sit helplessly and watch all of it happen. It was such a nightmare. I had never fallen in love before, and now the woman I loved was gone forever. And no matter how much I kept telling myself it wasn't my fault, I couldn't shake the guilty feeling that maybe I could have done more.

 The time that proceeded was the worst of my life. The way I was handling it, a short amount of time seemed like years. I was only thirty two and already had to deal with the loss of my wife. Take the days of my rebellious childhood and throw a whole new degree of sorrow into the mix and you've got a noteworthy depression cocktail. I quit my job and sat in the basement of my house, staring at the combat knife I got back in Military school. Was life really worth it anymore? What did I have now? All I knew was what I had lost. I barely ate anything anymore (some people said I was starting to look a little pale), and became paranoid as fuck. There couldn't be any women in my life. They'd end up leaving me . . . and they wouldn't be _her. No one would._

So the house I had moved into with Mary slowly started to wither and fade. It was no longer the colorful love shack it once was when we had moved in. It was now faded, tattered and torn. My better half was gone and I was left alone to try and run my own life. I had always had problems as a kid, but some of the same problems arose once again. I was drinking again, had one too many cigarettes every day, and wallowed in my own self pity for hours at a time.

One day, I decided to get off my lazy ass and check the mail. Don't ask me why. I just felt some drive to go check it after so many weeks; like some voice was calling my name. So I walked out passed the lawn in my tank top and black slacks I had worn every day for the past three weeks, wreaking of alcohol. As I pulled the flap down to the mailbox, a single letter instantly flew out. The wind carried it a few feet and I chased it down the road for a while. I finally grabbed a hold of the white envelope and stared at the front.

My jaw dropped.

  
I ran back into the house as fast as I could, not believing what I saw. I sat down on the couch and ripped open the letter. I could smell some sort of fragrance emitting from the piece of paper, and that made me all the more frightened. I read through the words on the paper, my hand trembling.

_In my restless dreams, I see that town. Silent Hill. You promised you'd take me there again some day, but you never did. Well, I'm alone there now. Waiting for you in our 'special place'. _

I rubbed my eyes and slapped myself in the face. This had to be some sort of dream. The front of the envelope said Mary.

My dead wife.

I didn't believe in ghosts. Dead men tell no tales (or women, in this case). There was no way she was still alive. I remember seeing her dead body at her funeral. I saw her buried. She was dead. There was no way she could have written this. It was impossible. 

But I'm just a damned fool. After telling myself for the next two days that this wasn't from Mary and that she was dead, I made the worst decision of my life. Either I loved Mary so much that I was willing to go look for her even after she was dead, or I was losing it. But I found myself getting into my old Nova and driving off into the mountains.

Off to Silent Hill.

Everyone has a driving force. Some people are driven by money, some are driven by power, and some are driven by love. But surprisingly, I wasn't going there entirely because I loved Mary. I was going because I had to convince myself she really was dead. I loved her and wished she was still was me, but I wanted to make sure she really was resting peacefully. 

I drove for hours until I finally got to the mountains. I lost track of time and my damn foot was going numb. The boots I had bought seemed nice at first, but they were so heavy I couldn't keep wearing them. I quickly pulled them off and threw them into the passenger's seat. When something gets too complicated, throw it aside; my motto in life (my parents had to figure that out the hard way).

I slowed down as a thin layer of fog started to shroud the road. Big deal, the town was near a lake. Fog was the least of my worries. It couldn't hurt me. I sped up, as if giving the mist the finger. Fuck you; this was my road. If you thought you'd stop me for a second in searching for my Mary, you were wrong.

The road twisted and turned in every direction. Left, right, up, down . . . thank God I was the one driving. I would have hurled if I were in the back seat (I always got motion sick). I laid my head back against the head rest, wondering how much longer this damn road went. I must have been getting close because of the fog. That meant I was approaching the lake.

Finally, I saw a chain link fence following me to the left. That meant there actually was someone out here. Then I'd wash up and see if she were really here. It wasn't like the locals would know who she was. They'd just look at me like the retarded guy you see on the back of every city bus. Finding Mary was _my quest, anyways. Not theirs._

I took my foot off the accelerator and onto the breaks quickly, realizing there was a building to my left. As the car slowed down, I stared out the window, wondering if anyone was here. I pulled the car over to the far end of the building. The second the Nova came to a complete stop, and I quickly pulled the key out. I jumped across to the passenger's seat, looking out the window. Still no one in sight. What a welcome. Oh well. Who cared if a bunch of strangers were scared of me? I grinned as I extended my legs and pulled my boots back on.

I got back into my seat and unlocked my door. Then I pulled the handle and got out. It was cold out, but I couldn't even remember what time of year it was, so I didn't question the weather. It was always warm enough in my house.

That building I had seen was just a restroom. What a brilliant location. Welcome to Silent Hill! Come feel free to use our shitty, run-down crappers and running water! But don't get the water too close to your eyes or you might get worms! I mumbled as I walked over to the facilities. Fuck their condition. I just wanted to splash face with cold water and remind myself that this was really happening; I really was crazy enough to go and search for my dead wife.

I opened the door and was greeted with a rusty creaking sound. To my dismay, my guess had been right. This had to be the worst maintained bathroom I'd ever seen. It gave Grand Central Station a run for its money. The thick smell of feces corrupted the air along with the rusted metal along the sink. And let me assure you that combining the smell of shit and metal is never a pleasant aroma. 

  
I walked across the floor watching pieces of it crumble beneath me. The plastic that held up the toilet stalls was starting to fall apart and thousands of insects covered the not-so-spectacular walls. The urinals were (how surprising) drenched in piss that seemed to corrode the plaster they were made out of. It was probably another ingredient in the bathroom's stench shake.

I stared into the mirror for a moment, realizing I was a mess. So this was what I had looked like all that time sense Mary died. No wonder I hadn't met anyone else. My looks, coupled with the fact that I hadn't left the house sense she died. I turned on the faucet in front of me, trying as hard as I could to make as little contact with the metal as humanly possible. I closed my eyes as I splashed the cold water on my face, enjoying the cool sensation of the icy liquid spilling down my brow. Back in the military days, I used all my free time to try and figure out ways to keep myself aware at all times. It was strange how many simple ways there were to accomplish that. Cold water always seemed to work for me. Some people may say that's bullshit, but if you aren't suddenly awake after you turn the dial in the shower immediately from hot to cold, you've got issues. Pain also helped me stay alert. Sometimes I scratch myself with my knife. Who cares if I bled? I got me through the four long years.

I stared back at the mirror for a moment. Why did I always end up staring at myself? It was almost like I was looking at someone I didn't know anymore; either that or I was trying to see someone else in my own reflection aside from James Sunderland. I wanted to see . . . 

I wanted to see Mary somewhere in my reflection.

I had always wanted to be like her. She was sweet and caring, and I was always an obnoxious asshole. She had the manners, the good looks, and the charm. She was everything I had eventually come to love in a woman. But I was hoping that all the good things about her would rub off on me. I guess they didn't. She'd hate to see me now. I had become nothing more than a fucking drunkard who only did a few push-ups every day to try and keep in shape. She would have wanted me to change. Maybe that's why I wanted to make sure she really was dead. I didn't want her to see what I had become. That had to be it. Why else would I have wanted to make sure she wasn't really here? It wasn't like I didn't love her.

I stared at my reflection a final time before turning away from the mirror and walking towards the door. I asked myself the same question that I'd asked a million times before coming here.

_Mary . . . could you really be in this town?_


	3. Chapter 2: Fantasy of Darkness

Fresh air once again.  
  
 The cold, biting air felt good for a change. I took a deep breath, as if taking in the mountain's essence, and then started walking away from the building. The wall that went alongside the edge of the mountain was low enough to provide a nice view of the lake.  
  
 If I could see the lake, that was.   
  
 The lake was still there, but a huge white sea covered what was once the water. There had been a thin layer of fog driving up here, but this was amazing. It was like an ocean or something. The waves of mist crashed along the side of the cliff in an amazing display of colorless fireworks.  
  
The fog didn't scare me, though. I was in the mountains near the lake. This was just one of nature's perks. Still, finding Silent Hill in that was going to be a trick. Just as long as I paced myself, I'd be fine in all of it.  
  
I turned away from the view and walked over to my Nova. The door was still open, but that was no doubt due to the fact that I was too lazy to even close it. I had to grab one more piece of "equipment" before I started my journey into this fog. I walked around to the driver's side of the car and looked around the dash board. I'd better have brought it . . . if I didn't, I'd be in trouble.  
  
My map of the town.  
  
 Fortunately, though, I found it right underneath the front seat of the car. 'Welcome to Silent Hill!' it said in welcoming letters across the top. Great . . . at least the _map _was welcoming me. This place itself didn't seem too inviting. But then again, I couldn't see the actual town. Who knew? _It_ might be inviting.   
  
After stuffing the map into my pocket, I started to walk across the street to the other side. I could make out the words 'Toluca Lake' on a sign by a set of stairs leading down. The big surprise was . . . the lake wasn't at the very top! I laughed at my own sarcasm as I approached the stairs. Next stop, Silent Hill.  
  
I stopped in place, however, wondering _where _in Silent Hill I was going.  
  
If you just heard a _bing _sound go off, that was the "James is a dumbass" counter going up another notch. I was going to go look for my dead wife without a destination in mind. All she said was that she was in Silent Hill. She didn't mention where.  
  
_In our special place . . ._  
  
I didn't know where our special place was. From what I could remember, this whole _town_was our special place. But was there any place we had _really _memorable experiences?  
  
My mind started rewinding its memory (my brain always worked like a VCR. It was unreliable) back to the day Mary and I went for a walk. There was some boat ride we took . . . but where was it? Was it that park out by the lake? We had spent the whole day there . . . so maybe that was our 'special place'.   
  
I decided that the park was my first destination. Realizing I would more then likely freak out actually seeing her there, I started to get apprehensive. But I'd do anything to finally see my Mary again. A heart attack would almost be a slap in the face to tell me I wasn't dreaming. Then I'd die, but who would care? Mary was alive! (Some people question my logic. Gee, I wonder why).  
  
I started to descend the concrete stairs into the mist, like taking my first steps into the swimming pool. Those first steps were too much, and I was already in too deep. The fog had devoured me. I lifted my hand in front of my face, but fortunately I could still see it. I exhaled, seeing my breath travel through the air like cigarette smoke. The 'mountain scent' started blending in with the smell of the pine trees that surrounded me. Earlier, it had just smell like wet grass and a light dash of concrete. Oh, the things you smell! A new addition to the Doctor Seuss collection . . .only he wouldn't have written a book describing how bad a bathroom could smell.  
  
The hill led down with an uninviting cliff running along my right side. The pine trees to my left were a much nicer sight. I stepped onto the dirt at the bottom of the stairs and was then greeted by a crunching sound. I had just crushed a pine cone.  Maybe it was just a way of showing my boots were tougher then anything the mountain could dish out. If the mountain wanted to mess with these bad boys, bring it on! I continued down the mountain path, wondering what else I could brutally smash with my tough-yet-uncomfortable shoes.   
  
I stopped slaughtering the pine cones instantly as I heard a noise rustling through the trees.  
  
I held still for a few seconds, dreading the thought that there was something in those woods. How cliché . . . some beast was lying in wait amongst the trees. All I needed was a camera and my ability to dish out all the swear words I knew and I'd make the next big Hollywood flick.   
  
I heard the footsteps travel through the trees. The steps were followed closely by the sound of something growling. I could here the grass rustling through its feet . . . or paws, or whatever it had. All I knew was that it sounded like one vicious sonuvabitch.  
  
Soon, the sound left. Whatever it was, it was gone now. I hoped the 'you can't see me if I can't see you' rule applied (which it almost never did, unfortunately). I continued to walk down the hill, only much more alert. Adrenaline is something I forgot to add to my 'things to keep me alert' list. Good old circulatory system.  
  
I managed to avoid the ominous white void to my right as I continued my descent. I didn't know how far down it went, but I wasn't ready to just jump off the edge and find out. I could see the headlines . . . 'Visitor's Curiosity Leads to Demise'. Then it'd show my mangled corpse skewered by some branch. 

_Sorry, locals. Not today.  
  
I slowed down as I noticed a well coming up to my right. What the hell was the point in putting that out here? Maybe some old lady lived out here who could never adapt to a city's 'modern conveniences'. I stepped up to it and stared into it for a moment. Was there even anything in there? It seemed like any water this town had quickly evaporated into the glass of milk I was walking through.  
  
 Down at the bottom, I noticed a bright red object. Normally, I wouldn't have found something as little as that amusing, but I couldn't stop staring at it. For some reason, it felt like someone was groping around in my skull when I stared at it.   
  
I quickly stepped away from it as I saw a bright red light flash in front of my eyes.  
  
Suddenly, a group of nurses gathered up behind. I was surrounded with nothing to defend myself. Well, time to take them on by hand. So what if they had pipes? I had my fists. But I didn't realize how much those things would hurt after smashing against the back of my skull. And as soon as one did, I felt loads of blood squirt out the back of my skull. I fell to the floor in an instant, feeling a river flowing out of my head.  
  
The second I blinked, I was brought back to reality.  
  
I quickly looked around. What the hell was that I saw? It looked like nurses with long, metal pipes. Then they killed me. But now I was back where I was . . . in the middle of a mist shrouded town in front of the well. What I had seen was such a blur I couldn't clearly remember. For a split second it seemed like I had always been there rather then suddenly appearing there. Great. My imagination (I think) hated me too.  
  
I shook my head and started walking away from the well, wondering why I cared in the first place. Whatever happened was over. Still, that was as crazy as any time I had ever fried. My head was _still _tingling from staring into the deep crimson void. If I ever saw another one of those again, I'd remind myself to ignore it.  
  
To my relief, the dirt road ended up ahead. Twin gates closed off the road ahead, only blocking off what seemed like an endless dirt plane. I hoped this wouldn't turn out to be some sort of science fiction movie where the hero finds himself wandering in the vast, barren fields for days. Captain James' log: Walked in circles for five straight hours. No sight of the town anywhere. I'm starting to go a little hungry and need a new blaster immediately.  
  
A new blaster . . . that's what I wanted. A loaded Desert Eagle was always better then any teddy bear I had ever had. Teddy bears don't make bad people go away. Guns always do. I had never actually held a real gun until I became a soldier. I just talked about them with my friends. But I knew the second that I was handed a fully loaded Beretta that the gun was going to be my best friend. I received training with other types of equipment, but Brett was always my favorite, especially after modifying the hell out of it. My gun obsession was brought to a sudden end, however, when I got married. Mary wouldn't have liked it. Not at all. That was the one difference between the two of us. Mary liked peace and quiet while I liked action and commotion. That, fortunately, was one of the only things we disagreed on.   
  
I walked up to the twin gate doors and shoved them open. The dirt turned into grass passed there, but I couldn't see anything for a long ways. So here I was . . . the plane of mist, just as I had seen from the other side. I started to walk forward, hoping that this really was the way to town. But there was nothing in here . . . just me, the grass, the gate, and the wall (The grass, the gate, and the wall . . . that sounds like a C.S Lewis book).  
  
I noticed some small objects materializing in the distance. Okay, so I was wrong. Sue me. This place was a graveyard. I could tell instantly after recognizing that those shrouded 'figures' were grave stones. Who the hell would use a location like this to remember their loved ones? This was the kind of place murderers buried their victims. Very few trees, no flowers . . . hell, no color anywhere. Okay, so they tried to add style to this place by building it near the lake, but everything else around me was bland. A resort town with a rejected graveyard; how appropriate.  
  
My eyes focused on something behind one of the gravestones. No more inanimate objects . . . _this _one was moving.   
   
God, please don't let it be hostile. I was always pretty good with my fists, but who knew what kind of rat bastards lurked around the graveyard? I wasn't comfortable being in these 'resting places' anyways . . . not since I had seen that movie with this one Satan worshiper screaming out 'the flesh of fallen angels'. Still, Satan worshiper or not, I wasn't about to give him a chance if he gave me any shit.  
  
It wasn't that much longer until I realized 'he' was a 'she'.  
  
Just a teenage girl. She was wearing a white angora sweater and tight, red jeans. I tried to keep myself from checking out her curves or I'd be no better then your common child molester. Okay, so she was older then that, but I tried not to think sexually about anyone more then ten years younger then me (I've failed at doing that in so many movies). Her face was pale . . . like mine. Maybe she didn't get out much. That is, after, how I got this way. She was also leaning down, reading the one of the grave stones.  
  
Geez, just staring at her wasn't going to get me anywhere. I needed to talk to her and figure out how far away this 'Silent Hill' was, anyways. Hopefully, I wasn't a million miles away and she had just come from there.   
  
I took a step closer to her, not hesitating to speak one second.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
She instantly jumped back from the stone she was reading and stared at me like I was the fucking king of demons himself. She then covered her mouth like a screaming teenage girl does when she sees some pop group live.  
  
"I . . . I'm sorry!" she yelped, slowly backing away from me. Another paranoid teenaged girl . . . afraid everyone's out to rape them.  
  
I lifted my hand. "No, no. I didn't mean to alarm you!" I said. 'Didn't mean to alarm you'? Now I was sounding like my dad. "I'm kind of lost."  
  
I could tell she was calming down. Thank God . . . the last thing I needed was a spazzed-out teenager. She tilted her head at me, as if suddenly realizing I was just another human (I hate it when people look at me like that).  
  
"Lost?" she asked.  
  
I nodded. "Yeah . . . I'm looking for Silent Hill," I explained. I then pointed out into the fog. "Is this the way?"  
  
She seemed a little unsure. But then again, she was acting like she had just woken up to find out that she was the last surviving human on earth. ___

_No one died, miss. Tell me where Silent Hill is.  
__   
"Um . . . yeah," she said, nodding. "There's only the one road. You can't miss it." She pointed west.  
  
I smiled and started walking in that direction. "Thanks," I chimed. Finally . . . now, on to Mary!  
  
"But . . ."  
  
Damn it. There just had to be a 'but' in there somewhere. Aside from 'distal', 'but' was my least favorite word in the world. It always cancelled out what the person had just said. I'm sure we've all heard the 'I'll always love you BUT there's another guy' from someone we went out with at least once. Or the ever popular 'You did good . . . BUT not _that _good'.  
  
I turned around. "Yes?"  
  
"I think you'd better stay away from that place!"  
  
This was how most horror movies began. A lonely stranger meets you in the middle of a graveyard and tells you not to wander out into the city. Then the hero of the story ends up doing it anyways. These heroes are never too bright. I guess I was one of those heroes. But maybe I just didn't care about myself enough to stay away from the town. It wasn't the best time to start wallowing in my own self pity, though.  
  
She blinked, realizing I wasn't sure why I should stay away from Silent Hill. "This . . . uh . . . this town," she started, sounding like some foreigner trying to pronounce her words correctly. "There's something wrong with it. It's a little hard to explain, but . . ."  
  
"Is it dangerous?" I interrupted. I didn't have time for this 'setting the atmosphere' crap.  
  
She nodded. "Maybe . . ." she voiced. "And it's not just the fog, either. It's . . ."  
  
"Okay, okay . . . I'll be careful," I assured her and continued walking.  
  
She quickly reached out to me. "I'm not lying!" she pleaded. I felt her icy hand touch my neck. She was probably reaching for my shoulder, but missed. I could feel her hands trembling. At first, I thought she had just lost it. Yeah, the town was a little foggy, but that didn't mean anything. Maybe she was just easily scared.  
   
  
_Said the damn hypocrite who's afraid of graveyard lurking occultists._  
  
Her trembling spoke louder then any of her words, though. She was clearly hanging on to her wits like a little girl clawing onto her mom's leg when she doesn't get her way. Scared shitless, my dad would say. So there was obviously _something _wrong, aside from the town drowning in mist.  
  
But the fact remained. I was here to find Mary. Maybe this girl was right about it being dangerous, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered to me except my wife.  
  
"No, I believe you," I explained softly. I then stared down at the floor. "It's just that . . . well, I don't care if it's dangerous or not. I'm going to town either way."  
  
She glanced at me, obviously confused. "But why?" she asked.  
  
"I'm looking for . . . someone." I didn't even say her name. Why was that? I had always loved saying her name, but why didn't I then? Mary was more then just 'someone' to me. She was my all.  
  
"W-who is it?" the girl asked.  
  
"Someone . . . who's very important to me."   
  
There I went again. I couldn't even tell her who it was. The cat had my tongue and wouldn't let go.   
  
_Her name is Mary! Mary! M-A-R-Y!_  
  
"I'd do anything to be with her again."  
  
Strike three. James is out.   
  
The girl nodded. "Me too," she sighed. "I'm looking for my mamma. Er . . . I mean, my _mother_."  
  
I tried not to laugh. She was at least seventeen and was still calling her mother _mamma_. She must have been really close with her to still call her that . . . like she hadn't even been weaned from the bottle yet. Or here's another possibility. Maybe she was just crazy. Fucking crazy.  
   
I continued to watch her as her hair flowed with the breeze. "Your mom?" I asked.  
  
"Yeah," she said. "It's been so long since I've seen her." She looked around for a moment. "I was hoping my father and brother would be here too, but I can't find th . . ." She suddenly stopped right in the middle of her sentence, her head drooping. "I'm sorry. It's none of your concern."  
  
I shook my head. "No. I . . . uh . . . hope you find them," I encouraged. It was true, too. We were both here for the same reason . . . to find someone we loved. I was almost able to relate to her longing to find her loved ones. If she loved her family half as much as I loved Mary, then she was obviously desperate to find them. I doubted who _she _was looking for was dead, but who knew? Maybe Silent Hill just attracted crazy people like me.   
  
The girl nodded. "Yeah, you too," she said quietly. She then went back to examining the head stones. She didn't look like she was much in the mood to talk right now. Oh well. I had to end the conversation somewhere or else I'd stand here all day instead of searching for Mary.  
  
"Well, uh . . . see you later," I mumbled faintly. I waved to her and continued off into the mist. At least two people here were looking for someone (one of them being me, of course). It must have been a smaller world then I had ever expected. Hopefully, the _town _would be smaller then I expected too. I had been there before, but not this end of town. Mary and I had just decided to go on the other end of Taluca like by means of a nice little canoe ride. Wasn't it nice how the Lakeview Hotel just happened to have a place to dock the boats? I guess they were facing a lot of __pier pressure (man, I kill myself sometimes).  
  
I continued to trudge on (which wasn't necessarily that comfortable with my 'cool' moto-boots). Through the fog, I could see a building in the distance. That was probably the check out counter for the dead and some guy named Quasimodo would be standing behind the desk. To the right of the building, the stone wall continued. Where it ended was probably where the road to Silent Hill continued. _

So maybe I'm not completely hopeless. I was actually right. Another gate lead out to what looked like a dirt road. I approached it slowly as if trying to add some suspense to my own life. What could be behind the mysterious gate? Maybe a dirt road? Oh, the horror!

And as horrible as it was, I found that dirt road after going through the gate. The small hills (actually, they more like mounds) made up of dirt followed me along each side. I started to walk forward, watching the slightly moist dust build up on my shoes. I actually enjoyed the aroma that filled the air, though. There was nothing quite like the smell of wet dirt and grass. This was just like one of the roads I used to walk up back at grandma's farm when I was a kid. The strangest things bring back memories.

I slowed down as I noticed a large brown object in the horizon. I just prayed that whatever lurked in the toilets hadn't followed me this far. If it did . . . that meant I just might have to make my way past the great might poo. That was one adventure I didn't look forward to taking.

Fortunately, though, it was just your everyday lumber. A whole stack of logs were loaded up near a barbed wire fence that began where the dirt mound to my right ended. Nice to see the town was keeping up with the economy. After all, everyone needs cabins nowadays . . . that, and paper. Definitely paper.

Passing the pile of paper (it wasn't yet, but hey. It sounds poetic), I continued down the dirt road. Nothing was visible in the distance. I couldn't help but admire the way objects slowly appeared through the fog, though. It was a visual masterpiece the town produced. A car started to appear, along with a dirt mound to my right. The barbed wire fence didn't want to end, like some sort of tapeworm that infected the town's intestines. But fortunately, it was soon buried underneath yet another mound of dust. Soon, I was surrounded by these 'mountains', still able see little patches of grass trying to break through so they wouldn't drown. Everything here had a will to live . . . amazing.

It was about that time I heard footsteps behind me.

_Please let it be that girl . . . please, please, please . . ._

I couldn't have moved if even if I wanted to. I was completely petrified with fear. The footsteps behind me continued to approach me, the dry sound of dust following in harmony. 

My heart sped up as they approached at an even faster pace. I apologized to my reflexes and instantly ran as if my life depended on it (which, in this case, it might have). Some of those fucking loggers probably had guard dogs to protect their shit. Why did they just leave the gate unlocked if they didn't want anyone here?!

The scenery that rapidly passed me by all became a blur, but I could make out a fence to my right. I tried to stay parallel to it, hoping where ever it took me wouldn't end up being a huge hole in the ground.  That would have lead straight back to the local paper headline scenario. 

The fence lead me right where I wanted to go. I soon reached an alleyway. Unfortunately, however, the footsteps had done a noteworthy job of following me. I quickly ran through the alley, dodging the scattered newspaper shreds across the street. At the end was a gate. And I prayed with every bit of faith I didn't have that it lead me away from my unknown pursuer

Shit, those footsteps were catching up fast! I could literally feel my ass instinctively trying to keep itself out of biting range. I didn't even know if this thing bit, but who was I to take chances? Something was right behind me and was probably dangerous. But the gate ahead of me was so close. I closed my eyes for a second and decided to try something that probably only worked in fiction . . . dive for the door. I wanted out, and now. I mustered up all my strength and leapt forwards. 

Any normal person probably would have crashed face first into the chain-linked fence that surrounded the gate, but my reflexes were keener then usual. Ever seen those movies with bullet time? When a hero dives in slow-motion and is miraculously able to dodge a bullet? It was just like that . . . only I was able to open the gate in the little time I was given. As soon as I was past it, I used my foot to kick it shut. I heard the gate slam shut.

I was startled by the commanding crash against the fence that erupted shortly after the gate was closed. I was safe for now. Time to see my pursuer. I rolled over onto my back and stared behind me.

Nothing . . .

Okay, now things were getting pretty damned weird. I heard something rustling through the trees on the side of a hill. Then that thing apparently followed me through the woods to the dirt road. It gave chase and I ran like a little girl to the other end of the dirt road. I got behind a gate, only to realize there was nothing chasing me. What does the story so far mean? This place was just fucking with my head. Or maybe I was fucking with my own head. Still, this town gave me enough fog to imagine my fears with very few distractions. 

I quickly got to my feet and dusted myself off. I looked at the patches on my jacket, making sure they were still there. I wasn't about to lose what I still had to show for being in the army for four years (as little as that may have been). It was the only thing left to prove that I was once G.I. James. 

I turned around and looked at the road ahead of me. Past the other half of the alleyway was another road that led into the fog. The right side of the road led down the mountain. The left side of the road led to a wall up the mountain. Isn't it amazing how this town was built? On the side of a mountain! Who the hell would have thought of that?

As I continued to walk up the road, I examined the walls up ahead. Some kids in the Silent Hill "hood" were pretty decent vandals. I remembered back when I'd given spray painting a shot (actually, me and my friends were just huffing and I decided to leave my name for all to see).  Most people would just look at it as graffiti, but those who've ever done it have to give the vandals credit for their artwork. As hopeless as it may be, it's hard stuff to do. If only more people had an eye for good art. I think more of the problem came from the location of this "fine art", though. It might be nicer to look at if it wasn't slapped on the side of the local library.

The graffiti covered walls soon drowned out in the fog, but the road continued. When was it going to finally take me to the city? I sure as hell couldn't have told you, because this road went on forever. Plant life was growing at the top of the wall. That meant there was something out here, if not just plants. The wall was never shrinking any, though, so I guessed I wasn't going up any time soon. I'd probably just go straight a couple of miles and then get stuck finding out I can't reach the town from there. 

The wall and the road forked left and right. But the path left was blocked off (and the sign was oh-so polite in saying "Do Not Enter") by a fence. So I'd either go crazy from curiosity and climb the fence or be lazy to go right. Guess which category I fall under (Hint: Lazy)?  So I took the simple path, just like everything else in life.

The wall was replaced by a rusty old chain link fence that followed me to one side, not letting me use the other road. Funny the other side wasn't fenced off, though, considering it lead straight into a sewage canal. And as I recall, those are worse then empty roads. Still, the fewer fences, the better. I think there was some horror movie I saw that had those in it. They made up the ceiling of some hospital and all these bizarre creatures watched the main character travel through the corridors. Ever sense I saw that, I was a little apprehensive. Funny, considering nothing else scares me. Just fences and Satan people.

When the chain linked fence ended, a barbed wire fence began. This one was blocking off a road, though. Oh, no. It had to keep people off of the grass this time. The goddamned grass! What was the point? Another hint, there was none. Old country clubs used to put signs up, but I guess the residents of the town were a little stricter. 

My questions about the barbed wire fence ended as I noticed a sign. This barbed wire was meant to keep intruders off of Farmer Jon's land. It was a ranch. But if this guy was so desperate to keep people away from his hot dogs, then why was the main fence so incredibly shitty? It was made out of a few planks of wood, barely able to withstand the breeze; much less an actually intruder with a machete. I passed it, laughing to myself that I wasn't the only dumbass in Silent Hill (my self-esteem was never that great).

I stopped in place, but not because I heard something moving through the grass this time. I saw a building up ahead. I wanted to leap for joy and scream something . . . anything that would show the whole world how happy I was to finally be in the town. I instantly started running out towards it like a little kid running to new ride at the local amusement park. Sure, this place was a little hard to see, but at least I was here. I soon made my way into the street, looking around like a kid who just arrived at the new arcade in town. I was here. Now I just had to head north and get to Toluca Lake! I was more then happy to do that and quickly continued running down the street.

My running pace slowed down. I saw up ahead what looked like tire marks tattooed across the street. It wouldn't have mattered if they weren't so incredibly dark and thick.

Or red, for that matter.


	4. The Crimson Path

A NOTE FROM AUTHOR

Dear fans (whoops, there goes my blaring ego. I think I have FANS!)

First of all, sorry this took all summer. My computer broke down. That sucks. But I will continue writing this. This is in no way a dead project. My computer's just been down and out. But Aeris's works. Anyways, I'll be updating you all on the completion of each chapter. I'm so sorry I've been so lazy, but that ends now.

And secondly, OUR WEBPAGE IS UP!!!!!!!!!! Check out www.fanfichq.com. It's cool. You'll notice in the "People who Hate us" section that Dominitium got her spotlight! See, we ENJOY people who hate us! They make our lives cooler.

Anyways, on with the greatly anticipated (yeah right) new chapter!

Chapter 3: The Crimson Path

  
This wasn't a skid mark. This was blood . . .

Blood has never bothered me, even in real life. I had seen more then my fair share of violent movies, but the army had taken me places that had desensitized me to it (which, once again, I don't want to talk about). Still, I wasn't expecting to suddenly see a huge puddle of it going down the middle of the road. It _startled me, but I wasn't grossed out. The blood curved up a street heading north. I looked down the trail. The crimson stain was pretty much an arrow. Go up the street? Okay . . . whatever you ask, blood._

I followed the red marker north, noting the scenery. This town might actually be kind of nice . . . if there was someone here. No cars running, no street lights on, no people roaming the streets . . . this town was deserted. Maybe everyone ran when they heard that James was coming to town.

Whoops, maybe I was wrong. In the distance, I saw someone walking. Actually, they looked more like they were staggering, but who was I to argue something like that? Whoever it was, they were shaking. Hell, I didn't blame them. It was pretty damn cold.  But he (or she?) had what looked like a brown hooded coat. Their pants matches the outfit perfectly. I was still fine with my heavy coat, but even if I left that at home, I'd have still been alright.

Soon, the figure disappeared into the mist. I started walking after it, wondering if anyone else was here. If he or she was willing to stick around, then at least I'd have the comfort of knowing that there were two people still here.

Another river of blood painted the way.

I continued not to question why the hell a huge puddle of blood was in the middle of a street corner, and followed it as well. I walked around it, not wanting my moto-boots to get soaked. Water was one thing . . . but blood can occasionally stain. And I'd know.

Now where the hell did that person go? Even as I continued up the street, I couldn't see him (I'll just assume it was a 'him'). He wasn't moving very fast, so I should have seen him by now. But then again, _I wasn't moving very fast either. Maybe I should have just stopped trusting the blood and started trusting my instincts instead._

However, I saw another puddle that curved right. Guess which way I went?

Instead of continuing north, I headed west. If I couldn't see the man, I'd follow the blood. If the person I was following was bleeding, he'd be dead by now. Hell, just the first puddle alone would be enough evidence that he had lost all that he had in him. So maybe the 'brown jacket' was just his rotting flesh. Good illusion, I must admit.

The buildings that went down the street were nothing I'd tell my friends about after this little trip. Actually, even if they were, I wouldn't tell them about it, because I didn't really have any friends. It was just the same old grays and reds that flooded the other parts of town (that I had seen). The road between the buildings was narrow, but eventually ended. The street instantly fell into a small pit of sand and appeared to stay that way. And there were barbed wire fences on both sides of me. 

I stepped into the sand. Its texture was wet enough to pack together, yet dry enough to stay the fuck off my shoes. I wish I could say the same `for the bottom of my pant legs, however. Why is it that even when your shoes stay dry, the dirt always sticks to the bottom of your jeans? It was one of the quirks of nature I didn't appreciate . . . much like the fog.

Some greenery grew past the barbed wire, but very little was able to thrive out here. I noticed that as I walked forward, wondering where the creature had gone. This whole town was trying to suffocate the plant life here with either dirt or . . . something, I just wasn't sure yet. So sadness wasn't the only thing that was growing with me on age . . . stupidity was doing a fine job keeping up.

From what I could see, the road ended not far ahead. A fence connected to another gate, but this one was left open. Aha! James spots a clue! I ran up to it, and right through it. So what if it said 'Watch Speed' in large letters? I'd find this should-have-bled-to-death freak! Plus, _blood pointed the way here. And we don't want to disagree with __blood, now, do we?_

It didn't take me long to figure that this dirt road used to be a normal road. Some house was out here by a large blue truck. Outside it were various tools and such. And right passed that was a small, dark space under the road that was held up by bricks. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it sounded like static was screaming inside. I've heard more then my fair share of that in the army days. That, and the days of my being a baseball fan. I always had to hear the announcer while the game went on, and the radio (even though Mary and I would be right in the damn stadium) would still pick up static. 

I stopped in front of the 'cave' beneath the road and looked into the darkness. It was poorly blocked off by some flimsy pieces of wood. The rusty metal posts on both sides were bent and destroyed. Yet they were still strong enough to hold up the 'barricade' meant to keep strangers out. Hell, if they didn't want anyone in there, then they should have just at _least nailed the boards in straight. I bent over and slipped into the dark crevice and looked through the darkness._

  
 The air around me was musty . . . almost so much that I could taste it. It wasn't a bad taste, though; in fact, kind of pleasant in a weird sort of way. I looked through all the boxes and other assorted junk scattered across the floor. People usually throw their obsolete crap out the window of their car, and this was where it no doubt ended up. But where was the static coming from? I groped around in the darkness, not being entirely comforted by the sharp beads of dust scraping across my finger tips. The bricks used to form the arch felt thousands of years old.

After a few seconds of searching, I finally found what I was looking for: the source of the white noise that filled the air! Just as I suspected, it was a radio. I started at the dial for a moment, trying in vein to see if the station it was tuned in to was a valid one. No such luck for old James Sunderland. I slipped it into my pocket and decided to try and get it to work later.

I instantly stepped back as I heard some rustling around the far end of the dark archway.

Something was in here besides me. I took a few more steps back, my heart racing a million beats per second. Something at the far end was starting rise out of the darkness. I couldn't see its arms, but that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. I noticed something gleaming where its face should be . . . like light reflecting off metal.

It was wearing a straight jacket.

This was no conventional 'tie his arms to each side of his body' straight jacket, either. This was a 'throw it over his head, tie down his arms, and hope the bastard can't escape' one. The clothe (which looked like metal to me) covered its entire upper torso. Its legs were obviously hanging on for dear life. And this fucker was brown . . . like everything _on it was rotting away; not just it's flesh._

I continued to step back, a little apprehensive. I was never one to run from a fight, but how could I be sure of what a rancid, rotting, repulsive freak was capable of? I looked like the bastard was having a seizure right where it stood, shaking violently in place. This wasn't a local resident. This was something out of 'Hellraiser'.

I fell backwards as something opened in its neck.

That freak just shot some cloud of brown shit right in my face. And damn, was this stuff irritating! I crawled backwards, feeling like I had just been maced. My eyes were dripping and my sinuses were blocked. Perfect timing to get lose two of my five senses. This thing was dangerous . . . and it was going to die.

I started reaching behind me. Hopefully I was right about this wood barely holding on. I slowly got to my feet, my blurred vision telling me that the creature was getting closer. I started to pull on the damaged piece of wood. It wasn't the most comfortable thing to grasp, but it was lethal enough to kill something. The 'club' came right off. I looked back at it for a moment. Perfect . . . from what I could see, there was still a nail at the top end. Let's hope I was right.

Another cloud of brown particles went flying at me, but I was quicker this time. I dodged it barely, jumping out the way. The creature went back into one of its spasms. This was the opportunity I was waiting for. Its attack made my hands tremble, but I didn't let it stop me. I swung over my shoulder and bashed the freak's fucking brains in. It fell back and crashed to the floor. I thought I could see some blood squirting out of its head, but I wasn't sure.

But then the damn thing started crawling.

I leapt backwards, surprised. I was sure then thing was dead. But then it comes back for more. Fine. If this damn crawler wanted more, I'd smash its whole God damn head in. It moved towards me surprisingly fast, considering it was only using its legs. I didn't know if this thing's mouth was covered, but I wasn't about to find out the hard way. The crawler was barely in inch away and I raised my foot in fear. I then stomped down on its head, feeling what was left of its skull explode into the hood.

I exhaled, feeling like I had held my breath for the last five minutes (which is never a good idea when fighting). After blinking a few times, my vision finally came back to me. I stared down at the creature, wondering if it was dead. I poked it with my club a few times and soon realized it was limp. This thing was dead alright . . . but what the hell was it? A twitching, taunting, straight-jacket totting crawler . . . and I didn't feel anything when I killed it, either. I didn't have a problem killing; the army had taken away any type of remorse I might have once had. Thirty two years old and stuck in a town where he doesn't mind killing something. How convenient.

Right past the dead crawler's corpse, I noticed something else. Something (or someone?) was lying in the middle of the darkness. I slowly walked up to it, curious as ever as to what was going on. It became slowly apparent that the thing lying down was also a human.

Well, used to be. It was now a corpse.

I stared in disbelief at the mangled body curled up in the corner. Thick bite marks scared the victim's neck. So that thing _did have jaws. It was a good thing I didn't have to figure that out the hard way. This guy wasn't just killed . . . he was half way eaten. Then I came along and the monster realized I was more of a meal then the skinny corpse with the overcoat. _

_Monsters and corpses . . . what next?_

I turned my back to both of them and walked away. The hole in the 'fence' was even larger now because I had torn off my new weapon from it. I had only owned it for a little more then three minutes and it was already bloodstained. That gave me a sense of power. The red mark would be a warning to all else that tried to mess with me. I slipped through the fence and stepped back in the dirt, realizing this club was going to be my new best friend.

It suddenly occurred to me that I still had that radio that was making such a racket before. I reached into my pocket and grabbed it quickly. It came right out with little resistance.  Soon it was right in front of my face and I examined it. It was a standard black AM/FM radio. The antenna was bent slightly, but that shouldn't have affected it that much.

_103.9 . . ._

The dial was set directly on that number. Back home, that was a rock station with a great morning radio show. I hadn't ever been a fan of modern music, but there were a few bands I liked. But that was aside from the point. The radio was very clearly on and the volume was cranked up all the way. Nothing seemed to be coming through now. Did I accidentally fall on it when the crawler sprayed me with that brown shit? I shook it a little bit, my curiosity piqued. 

_James . . ._

I quickly pulled the radio up to my right ear. Some static brought the radio back to life and I could make out my name. I continued to listen.

_Jam . . .I'm . . .come to . . .s . . . .ting . . .id you k . . . Jame . . . ._

I raised an eyebrow. What the hell was this? The voice sounded feminine. In fact, it was close enough to being . . . no. It couldn't be Mary. Maybe it didn't really say my name. I mean, how many words sounded like James? Tames, lames, games . . . the list goes on. And Mary was dead. I came here to prove that to myself. I wasn't about to let a scrambled message tell me otherwise.

I put the radio in my pocket anyways, though. Who knew? Maybe it'd suddenly spring to life again and let me know if someone was actually out there. If I got any radio station, that meant I was getting somewhere closer to civilization. Even a resort town in the middle of nowhere was bound to have something to listen to, right? But if it didn't, I was at _least getting closer to Brahms. Not much good __that would do, though. Walking almost one hundred miles wasn't my idea of escaping._

I started back the way I came from. The sand box I used to get here seemed a little less moist for some reason, but maybe I was just paying less attention. It was just as simple as going back the way I came. Past the old gate, through the fenced in area, and finally to the street I had come from. The colors weren't any brighter and the street wasn't any cleaner. 

I hurried down the same street still not bother to examine a yard fenced in with a gurney in the front. The buildings lead me straight back to the main street that took me here, and the blood was still splattered across the street. Once I reached the end, I stood in place for a moment. I had almost forgotten where I was going. Which way took me to Tulcan Lake the fastest? Why directly north, of course. I looked down the street to my right. Time to prove myself wrong about Mary (or was it right? I can't remember these damn things).

The road I took north kept going a ways and I followed in diligently. But I came to a complete halt as it suddenly dropped. I swung my arms to keep my balance. This place just _wanted me to be in all the headlines. This place __wanted me to fall of a cliff to my death. And it poured a huge truck load of lava into the road to try and keep me from getting any further. I looked into the huge creator, noticing a huge sand pit made up the canyon beneath me. All respect I had for this town at one point was completely gone. This was just another nice town destroy by the local rioters. How they got rid of a street was way beyond me._

I turned around and noticed a sidewalk to my right. Fresh grass grew on each side of it in as if decorating the destroyed town. I quickly got onto it, realizing looks can be deceiving. The town may _look deserted, but that didn't mean it was. I could just walk down the middle of the street and then become a James pancake splattered across the road as a confused semi-truck driver stares into the rear-view mirror in horror. I'd rather stay as close to the houses as possible._

And speaking of which, the architects who built these actually had an eye for good housing development. I knew the town was old and the houses here showed it with passionate construction. All of them reminded me of the residents I'd see when I used to visit my grandma in New England. Kudos the builders.

Up ahead, I could see what was apparently another tomb stone. Only this one was almost as tall as I was. Was this were they buried Goliath after David cut his head off and fed it to the wolves (don't start thinking I'm into that religion crap. _Everyone knows that story.) I examined the head stone closer, soon realizing it __wasn't a head stone. It was some sort of tale carved into the stone. But I guess age must have taken its toll on it, as where most of it was incomprehensible. The tree that was growing behind it provided appropriate shade. Oh, wait. The town didn't have any sun anyways. Note the sarcasm._

_Remains of            Swamp_

_The        ers of land surround     is monument was originally swamp, but was later fill     . Fr     ng ago, t                s nicknamed __Blood__Swamp__ because the        ers poured the wat    sed to wash the ex         ols in here. Perhaps it's fo               hat many pe         m to have s            n the area._

Oh, goody. A puzzle. Lets try to solve it! Remains of _Blood__ Swamp, I think. Then the . . . um . . . the . . ._

Ah, fuck it. Something about Blood Swamp. The name may sound ominous, but it was probably just there as some sort of urban legend. The tale was probably long and awful. They needed things like this back in the eighteen hundreds. Kids believed whatever you told them back then. Nowadays, though, they have movies to desensitize them.

I turned away from the stone and continued down the sidewalk. This part of Silent Hill was new to me, thus causing me to admire its 'beauty'. I had visited old Silent Hill for a while when I stayed at the Lakeview Hotel on our fist visit. The town was just north of it, after all. I was lazy, sure, but not so much so that'd I wouldn't even drive my wife anywhere. If she wanted to look at house (isn't it weird how women _always love looking at houses?), I'd be more then happy to do it. However, this side of town wasn't too bizarre or different. It just had lots of blood, mutant freaks, fog, and half-eaten people. I wonder which side I'll vacation at next year._

At the end of the block, orange cones stood tall in the middle of the street going west. They were covered with torn yellow tape, like they were trying to shut out some sort of riot. The only riot I had seen here was put on by Satan himself. Okay, so the story so far wasn't so out of this world that I'd think I was dreaming, but it was really messed up. I walked over the tape and continued west. Even if the tape wasn't up, was that going to stop me form getting to the next street that lead to Mary? The answer, to all the dense folks out there, is no. 

According to the map, the next street that went to the lake was Neely street. That was the second road that headed north. A few shops and houses lead the way there, still leaving the scenery laced with foreboding. I walked passed Martin Street, the first one heading north, and made my way passed Big Jays to Neely. With any luck that I might have (which I don't), there wouldn't be some huge trench where the road used to be. So far the street looked pretty harmless. Just a few parked cars and loads of shops. The traffic lights were still working, but it wasn't like there was anyone to follow the street signals. There were some parked cars, but no one was in them. Maybe I really did scare the whole town away. I'll remember to take a shower next time I visit some town.

I suddenly stopped as I noticed another pool of blood.

Only this time, a body came with it.

I slowly approached the body, staring at it in horror. Okay, I had a tough stomach. But what is _anyone supposed to think when they see a dead body rotting in a pool of its own blood? I saw bite marks torn through his black jacket and pants. And his brains were spilling right out of his skull. I gagged, but it wasn't like I hadn't seen anything this horrible before. Still, that crawler thing probably did this before I got here. The man's flesh was starting to rot . . . which was a sign that it had been here a while. So the crawler had time to go to the construction site under the road and then eat someone __else. This was turning into a fucking zombie flick._

Scattered around the corpse were pieces of paper stained from his blood. They were all torn from some spiral bound notebook next to the man's dead body. The wind had probably the other pages across the street. I turned from the corpse and started to gather them up. It didn't take long. I first read the entry in the notebook.

_I'm going to write everthing that I've learned so far. Maybe that will help you out somehow. If you're reading this, it probably means I'm already dead._

Yes, he was. He was so dead that he almost made _me puke. Oh well. Enough of the crappy introduction . . . on to the rest of the journal. I pulled the next page up form the bottom of the stack._

_I saw those demons. They were there, I'm certain. But my friend says he didn't see anything. If that's true, does that mean that what I saw was an illusion? It doesn't matter, because whether that demon that ate human beings was real . . . or whether it was just some kind of hallucination that my mind created . . . one thing I know for sure is that I'm beyond all hope._

This guy _was beyond all hope. I had seen one demon that ate people, but I wasn't surrounded by these things. This guy sounded like the whole fucking army of demons was after him. But then again, maybe he was just another LSD junky. Or, in this town's case, a White Claudia junky (another drug the paper said came from this town). I grabbed the next page from the bottom and started reading._

_It seems they're attracted to light. That's why people who need light to see are their natural prey. They also react strongly to sound. If you want to go on living, you'd be better off just sitting in the dark and staying quiet. But even that probably won't save you._

'People who need light to see?' This guy must have been pretty scared to make a note like that. We're people, not cats. But he was giving advice that I didn't know how to take. It might be helpful if I was stuck in the dark. But, seeing as how all I was stuck in was fog, I didn't have much to worry about. Sorry, buddy, but you're advice goes unnoticed. Next.

_If you're going to try and fight them, the most important thing is to relax. It's dangerous to fire a gun while you're all crazy with fear. Take good aim, and then squeeze the trigger. And don't forget to finish them off. I think most of these creatures can be killed, even if they are tougher then people._

I thought about writing a note back to him. If you're going to try and write notes, the most important thing is to relax. It's dangerous to write a note when you're crazy with fear. Then you become a total moron who doesn't make sense. This page read like one of the books I got from the army on how to use guns. I know how to fire a damn gun already. I just wished I had one right now. And if the demons he saw were the same as the ones I did, then they aren't immortal. I smashed one of their brains in and it seemed pretty dead to me. I pulled the second to last one out from the bottom and put it on the notebook.

_Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away!_

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! I get the idea. 

The best idea is to run away. I didn't like they're 'Mace Me' attack, anyways. But if I had to defend myself, I would. I wasn't the type to always run away from a fight. I took out the final page and started to read it. My heart started to beat faster as I read it, though, realizing it was writing in blood.

_The roads to Rosewater park are blocked. If you really want to see Mary, go to the trailer on __Saul street__._

I looked past the corpse and saw a huge wall that blocked the road. This one wasn't your conventional wall, though. It was a wall shrouded in heavy duty clothe. So the note was telling the truth. My hands were trembling. I didn't want to believe it, but all the roads I had found leading to Rosewater park _were blocked. This last note might note have been from the same person who was murdered. Maybe the crawlers were literate, speaking English, Spanish, and Click-Clack-ese. I didn't have a choice, though. All the roads were blocked and whoever wrote that note knew how to get to the park._

I turned away from the dead body and his notes, pulling out my map. The whole city was open to me with this baby as I studied it for a moment. I used my finger to follow the road down Neely Street. And the end of it was Saul Street. The trailer wasn't labeled on the map, though. Gee, I wonder why. I took out my red pen and circled Saul Street, making sure not to forget where it was. Just head south, don't turn on Katz Street, continue down the road and then turn right. Pretty simple instructions. I could start running one of those web-map sites. 

So I started my journey south. The road was still the same old boring road it was. Trucks, shops, and working stop lights. Then came Katz Street, which wasn't any different. I had stopped worrying about traffic by this point. There were no cars to get hit by now. Sometimes, I thought I heard something howling through the streets, but it always ended up being the wind. No need to get worried now. I wasn't going to die by some stupid car accident.

I slowed down, noticing someone else who had probably thought the same thing.

Underneath one of the parked cars was another body. This one didn't look completely eaten. Instead, it had been run over and _then half way eaten. I turned away, still trying to keep whatever it was I ate before I got here down. This was putting my stomach to the ultimate test, and so far I was passing it. This town wasn't just foggy . . . it was fucked up. __Fucked up. Nothing here was normal. No more explanations for this town._

I continued down the road, my only companions were the stores, stems, and street signs. Some trees were planted into the sidewalk for decoration. It helped to contribute to the mountain town's atmosphere. I guessed this part of town was more of a residential area with the occasional 'buy everything _here!' streets.  I was on one of those 'buy everything here!' streets. My neighborhood had a few of those. __Every neighborhood did._

The street ended with another clothe wall.

I stared at it for a moment, wondering if there was some unknown force that was building these things at random locations right before I got there. I walked up to the wall for a moment and put my hand against it. These things were _thick. I kicked it and almost bounced backwards. So they were tight, too. I had no intention of going down that street, but I started wondering why this street was blocking off certain roads. Maybe it was just trying to keep me trapped here. A city with a consciousness. There's a new one._

I turned right and started heading west down the road. The note said there would be a trailer here. Let me assure you that when I found it opened, I'd have a hard time walking in. Maybe another crawler was waiting for me inside and I was going to die. Dying, as I recall, isn't fun. Mind you, I've never done it before, but it still didn't sound fun. But even if there was nothing waiting for me there, what was going to be in there? And how could it lead me to Mary from _this end of town? This was shitville, after all. No houses in site. Just a rusted blue wall made of metal the followed my left. I couldn't see what was across the street, but I guessed it wasn't any more exciting. The blue wall eventually turned into an even less exciting chain linked fence. God diddledy damn, didn't this town just love those things? _

Parked at an angle against it was the trailer.

So the note wasn't lying. There was a trailer. And it was opened, as if welcoming me inside. I walked towards it apprehensively, examining the rusted white metal. This one wasn't very big like the ones I had seen in the RV catalogs. This was a perfect symbol of white trash America. The place where people eat mayonnaise sandwiches while fucking their sisters on the weekends.

I slowly climbed the steps that lead inside, examining the musty trailer. It was cold in there. Dirty shutters hung from the worn out windows. The 'furniture' obviously hadn't been cleaned in years, creating dust-balls one's kids would want to show their friend at school for show-and-tell. One table sat between to of them (the chairs) and a sheet of paper lay open on the couch near the bed. I had just entered the white trash tavern. And Mary wasn't here. But the paper on the couch told enough.

_I'll wait at 'Bar Neely's'._

So they were taking me globe trotting now, huh? And by 'globe', I mean 'town'. First to the north end of town, then to the north end of Neely street, then to the _south end of Neely's street . . . then where? Where else could I go now? The bar had better have some answers._

I walked away from the couch, dropping the paper on the floor. I quickly descended the steps and stood outside once again. Pulling out the map and the pen again (man, ain't I a poet?), I searched for this bar that was on Neely Street. Sure enough, right across the street from Happy Burger was Neely's Bar. I circled it on my map, growing impatient. I wanted to see if Mary was here, and soon! I didn't have time to go down to the local bar . . . although a few beers would have helped then.

The map got folded, the pen got put away, I ran down the road . . . you know the drill. The road ended, I went north. First came happy burger, then the bar. That was pretty much all there was to it. Except for one problem: the bar was closed. Hell, it looked abandoned. The windows were covered with news paper clippings from the inside. No one was in front of it and the door was shut. 

But was it locked?

I approached the door quickly and then turned the handle. It wasn't locked. That almost scared me. I opened it slowly and took a peak inside. It was deserted alright. A few empty bottles were scattered around, but it was empty. I stepped inside and closed the door. Man, was it dark. The windows was blocked off by news papers, as mentioned, but I soon found out why.

Something was writing in blood across it.

_There was a HOLE here. It's gone now._

A hole? Or as the wall put it, a HOLE? Maybe they misspelled 'whole' or whatnot. Perhaps it meant something like "there were a whole lot of people here before James arrived. They're gone now."

  
I turned from the note towards one of the tables. This place totally wreaked of alcohol, but it was actually kind of pleasant. Instead of coffee in the morning, I always woke up to a big bottle of hard liquor. Vodka beat anything out of Columbia. On one of the tables was _another sheet of paper. Whoever was leading me on was too scared to actually face me and wanted to back me into a corner. Still, I took a look at the paper, which I soon found out was a map. It showed which streets were blocked off by walls or canyons. But at the end of Martin Street was a question mark. Unknown territory to this person? Maybe. Then, finally, the Wood Bridge Apartment complex had an arrow going through it._

Wood Bridge Apartments! I could just go through the front and exit out the back to get to the lake. It was the only way to get to the road that lead there from what I could see. Everywhere else was blocked off by something. Just go from point A to point B. That didn't sound too hard.

Now to get to point A. I exited the bar and hit the streets once more. As I started down Neely once more, I started to wonder the question I should have asked sense the first note . . . who was writing these? Or an even bigger question: was he or she on my side? They were helping me get to the river, but why? Excuse me for never trusting anyone instantly, but when someone I don't know leads me all across town, I start to question his motives. Maybe he's there to scare me . . . or to help me. I guessed I'd figure it out soon enough. Even if he was waiting to destroy me, I'd be ready to . . .

I started to chew on my own words as I saw another crawler roaming the streets.

It was walking (or twitching) up a street heading north. My grasp on my club tightened considerably as I started at the freak disappear up the street. The last one tried to kill _me. Now it was time to return the favor. Get ready to meet your maker, crawler._

I noticed my radio was blaring more static. I stared at it for a moment, wondering if I was getting something. So I shook it a few times, but still nothing. So just put it away again. Maybe something was getting through, but not very clearly . . . yet.

I followed it up the street and walked down the road. I had only studied the map for a few minutes, but from what I remembered, this wasn't a street leading to the lake. It was just another live block, as Mary used to call them. The only purpose they served was to have more houses to contribute to over population. This was the same street that had been marked with a question mark at the bar, too. So not only did I get to kill another crawler, but I got to find out why this street was marked! Hurray for me.

The brilliant house design had faded and these low-end, crappy buildings replaced them. Well, every town in the world is bound to have some nasty parts in it. So far, this was the second part that contributed to Shitville. I just never guessed that it would be right next to the nice houses. Okay, maybe I'm being a little harsh, because despite the chipped paint on the wood, they weren't that bad. But the ones on the other side were much nicer.

I continued up the street, ready to confront the crawler. Past lower end houses, I saw a wooden fence that was no doubt used for keeping the red necks away from the rich folks. A white van was parked near in on the left side of the road. I new _he'd have a hell of a time trying to three-point-turn his way out of that one. Maybe he'd think of using the driveway to turn around, but if my assumption of this being hick town was correct, then he'd try kicking it and telling it to 'giddyup'. _

My stomach was not ready for what I saw past the truck.

The second I saw it, I instantly puked. No attempted to resist it . . . just up and out with my lunch The shit I just threw up didn't look much different then the guts hanging out of the man's corpse. That's right. Another corpse. Despite it making _me wretch (which is incredibly hard to do), I continued to watch towards it. Whenever I threw up, some vomit always stayed in my nose. That always left the god awful smell with me. But I was able to ignore it somehow as I walked up to the dead body. Most people's first question would be this . . . why the hell do you just walk right up to a dead body and examine it? My answer? Because I'm a sick freak. _

This body was torn apart by something. Those crawlers obviously had a taste for human flesh, and I'm making that assumption based on zombie flicks. I saw one of the victims the crawler had eaten. Maybe some of these had more proper dining etiquette then the others. This man was victim to the family slob, apparently. Right through his black suit, his intestines just spilled right out. Maybe the crawlers thought human hair was tasty too, because all of his was missing. And the man's head looked disgustingly moist, like something had bashed it against the fence it sat alongside. A slouching, sloppy stranger murdered against a firmly fitted fence; just what I needed.

But the metal object in his hand _was just what I needed._

I knelt down next to the body and examined the key in his blood-soaked grip. Yup, a key all right. I yanked it from his grasp, although gently enough to not rip his whole hand off. So if he was here, that meant that there were other people here . . . besides me and that girl, that is. I realized the key in his hand read "Wood Side Apartment", and a scenario played in my mind. Let's suppose this guy's name was Frank. Frank wakes up one day and decides to go take a harmless hike in the hills. Somewhere in the middle of the forest, Frank falls asleep. When he wakes up, his hometown is covered with fog. So Frank runs back to the town and realizes that there's some sort of straight jacket toting freak walking down a street that comes right before his beloved apartment complex. So Frank follows the creature. Then Frank gets eaten.

Just like James might get eaten . . .

I quickly turn around as the crawler leapt out from underneath the hick mobile and sped towards me. I instantly leapt against the fence back first. So I was going to die the same way as old Frank did. Give me a break. I couldn't go down so easily. The creature was approaching rapidly, crawling on the floor. The club was firmly held in my grip, and I was ready to murder this thing. Sorry, crawler, but Guts-a-la-James wasn't on this menu. I reached over my head and slammed my weapon straight down. It resulted in a satisfying crunch, but the damn thing wasn't dead yet. It started to get up on its feet, and it didn't have any problems either. Amazing, considering its hands were strapped down. Then it just stood there, twitching. What the hell was it waiting for, anyways?  
  
What the hell was _I waiting for, anyways?_

I ran at it and swung at it like a little kid trying to hit a tee-ball. The club smashed into its rib cage and the bones shattered. But this thing didn't need bones, I guessed. All it needed was its will to live. I swung again, this time causing it to stumble backwards. I heard it scream like an elephant that had just been tranquilized. Then I gave a swift kick to its torso, knocking it over. I laid on the floor, continuing to twitching on the floor. This thing had blood in it. Who would have guessed that a freak like this actually ran on flesh and blood? Now for the final blow . . . cave its fucking brains in. I lifted my foot, ready to stomp on it.

It started to crawl away.

Damn, it was fast too! It sped down the street amazingly fast. I quickly ran after it, trying to keep up. Even if I lost it, the blood trail would lead me right to him. He didn't have anywhere to hide. But he was determined to live. I would have admired that, except he just _ate the guy by the fence. When you eat humans, I suddenly lose respect for you. _

He made a right at the end of the street and then disappeared. No problem. I'd just follow the blood. I followed the trail right and slowed down my pace. I walked in line with it, pretending like I would fall into a bottomless void if I didn't. The crawler had gone pretty far . . . that much was certain. Hell, I could see the gate that blocked off the apartment complex . . . Frank's home. What a crappy place to live! The fences were so rusted with age I could smell them five feet away. Oh, wait. That was the garbage bags piled against it.

The trail abruptly stopped . . . and so did the road.

  
It wasn't one of those crevices. Oh, no. Now it was another big ass wall blocking my way. Only _this clothe wall had something written on it._

_The door that wakes in darkness, opening into nightmares._

I was assuming the door it was talking about was the one built into the wall. I walked over to it, admire its colors. Blue, grey, red, pink . . . it was just a nice little family door. But it was also a nice little _locked family door. The door handle twisted, but the door didn't open. I kicked in disappointment, but decided it didn't matter. The map at the bar __did say this road was blocked. I just didn't believe it, being the cynical bastard I was. The map said to go through the Wood Side apartment building, which was nine by me._

I turned around and started right into the faces of four crawlers.

The radio was almost screaming at me, obviously as scared as I was. The creatures reeked of death and decay, but I could tell under that hood, they were smiling. I kicked one of them onto its back, giving it less of a reason to smile. Four creatures ganging up on one defenseless guy wasn't my idea of a fair fight. I hated to have to run, but I had no choice. Fighting all of these guys was like taking on four mace-toting police officers. I decided I'd pass on that as I ran quickly for the gate that lead to the apartment complex. These freaks may have there own weapons built into their throats, but I had the ability to run a hell of a lot faster then all of them combined.

I was a good deal ahead of all of them, but the gate was locked. I quickly reached into my pocket, searching for the key that opened it. After a few seconds of searching I found it and quickly slipped it into the keyhole. I turned around for a moment. Those things were gaining fast! I unlocked the door and swung it open. After diving inside and slamming the gate behind me, I realized that I had dropped the key outside. The crawlers all stared at me, but then back down at the gleaming object on the floor. Then they gathered around it. I couldn't believe it. They were trying to _eat it! Just my luck! I hoped they all choked on it. Yeah, impossible for one key, but maybe I could find more shining things to throw at them._

I gave off a breath of relief. No more worrying about what was on the outside of the rusted old gate now.

Now all I had to worry about was what was on the inside of the apartment . . .


End file.
